"Sleepover" - Tony/Ziva and... well :)
disclaimer: So not mine. Just borrowed them for play. Put them back unharmed.
notes & warnings: No spoilers, although in my head this is set in early season ten due to the mood. It's quite obviously not the promised longish smut piece I have in the works. Instead, it's a mushy piece of fluff straight out of Tony's mind that jumped me last night, when I went to bed nursing a fever. I totally blame it all on that. ;)
word count: 1,180
comments & feedback: Very much appreciated.
Sleepover
He drifts in and out of slumber, never quite reaching the dream state of things, because his body wants to, but his mind is restless and not yet ready to call it a night. There's always something -- some sensation that drags him out of it before he can truly fall asleep. Most of the time it's her heartbeat against his.
He still isn't used to this -- to Ziva, naked. Sprawled all over him and so close that her pulse mingles with his own. To her curls spread out on his chest, and her hand on his hip, and her lips moving against his skin every now and then when she mumbles Hebrew in her sleep.
It's not her nakedness that keeps him from dozing off, though. Tonight, it's mostly the weird sensation of intimacy that keeps sneaking up on him when he least expects it. It's the fact that she can sleep so easily, with him there, when he knows she couldn't with others. It's her shifting whenever he moves and getting closer to him and -- like now -- pushing her nose into his neck and breathing in deeply. He hums and runs a hand through her hair because he can't help it and because he likes that sensation. And because he likes to have her face buried into his neck like that. Likes her warm breath on his skin. It feels good. Feels like it should have been like that for years.
Although, truthfully, it also feels like it has been years. Touching her like this, holding her, going to sleep with her and waking up with her again... it's very new and very fresh, yes. But it's also scarily familiar. It's not something he had to get used to.
She mutters something, and he can't help the silly smile that tugs at his lips. She's still not a quiet sleeper, no sir. She probably never will be. But he likes it like that. Likes feeling her shift and move. Tells him she's alive and there and with him, which, admittedly, is one of the best things he's ever felt. He'll gladly give a few hours of sleep for that.
Her fingers suddenly twitch and cramp up, and he takes her hand and rubs it gently before she can hit him accidentally in her sleep. Which she did before, yes, when she was stuck in a nightmare. Took him a few tries to figure out how to calm her down without waking her, but now it hardly happens anymore, and he thinks she may be getting used to having him here -- in bed with her. With her.
Not too long ago that thought would have scared the crap out of him. Now, it's almost as comforting as the silky slide of her naked thigh against his or the short bursts of warm breath against his throat. It's familiar. And now, he sometimes even thinks he craves these sensations so much that he has no idea how he even survived without them so far.
He slides his fingers along hers, interlocking them, and that's another of these silly gestures that leave him smiling these days whenever he knows she isn't looking. Especially when she's like she is tonight -- soft, pliant, just soaking up his presence. She's pressed to his side and spread out all over him like a happy puppy, arms and legs entangled with his, and whenever he moves, she makes these content little sounds that tell him she likes the slide of his skin against hers just as much as he does.
A small, idle part of his brain perks up and throws in that he could stroke her back now or maybe her thighs, just to see how easily he can wake her up and remind her that this began in lust. It wouldn't take much, no. He knows she's easy to stir when she wants to be, and he certainly knows how to stir her. But to his own surprise that thought stays idle and lazy and merely conjures up nice things to do to her at a later time. And he finds that just being with her, like this, is more than enough for now. It's the closeness he needs more from her than all the fancy positions in the world.
It should scare him, really. At least he thinks that sometimes, as if he has to remind himself what kind of person he used to be. But it doesn't. It feels too good, being with Ziva, and being who he is with Ziva. It's... natural. He never has to think about what happens next these days, because it always just happens, and that's okay. He doesn't have to think about where this will end, either, or how he'll mess it up, or how he can get out of it without one of them getting hurt. Because he doesn't want out.
And that's another surprise on its own, really, even though he's carried around these feelings for her, unnoticed, disregarded, for such a long time. He's not used to getting what he wants. Not the things he really wants. The things he needs in his life to be happy. (Sometimes he's been downright convinced there's an unwritten rule in the universe that says it can't happen for a DiNozzo. At least not this one.)
She moves again, and he turns to his side and into her because, yeah, her thigh feels really nice right there, between his. Her muscles twitch, and it's a sensation that's halfway to sexual. Except that she relaxes as soon as he puts his arm around her and draws her closer, and if she wouldn't kill him for using that word on her, he'd call her adorable.
He wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like that, he thinks. And he can't believe how much time he wasted without it.
He blinks and tries to keep a lid on the sudden rush of emotion, and that's when Ziva gets restless again and murmurs something. Her arm tightens around him, and for a second she tenses up in his embrace.
"Ssh," he breathes and presses his lips to her temple to soothe her, but she mumbles some more and suddenly clings to him a little more insistently.
"No, don't go."
He feels the words against his skin, and yes, there's the disgusting sweetness of the 'adorable' word tickling his tongue once more. He can't help the chuckle suddenly, and so he wraps his arms around her and draws her closer. Whispers into her ear, "This is my bed, you nutcase."
To his great surprise, she instantly relaxes at that, as if he has flipped a switch, and soon after she even stops the tossing and turning. He's not entirely sure what to make of her subconscious reaction, but while she settles against his chest and his own breath finally slows and evens out in sleep, he thinks it's not the worst feeling in the world to have her need him like that, every now and then.
notes & warnings: No spoilers, although in my head this is set in early season ten due to the mood. It's quite obviously not the promised longish smut piece I have in the works. Instead, it's a mushy piece of fluff straight out of Tony's mind that jumped me last night, when I went to bed nursing a fever. I totally blame it all on that. ;)
word count: 1,180
comments & feedback: Very much appreciated.
Sleepover
He drifts in and out of slumber, never quite reaching the dream state of things, because his body wants to, but his mind is restless and not yet ready to call it a night. There's always something -- some sensation that drags him out of it before he can truly fall asleep. Most of the time it's her heartbeat against his.
He still isn't used to this -- to Ziva, naked. Sprawled all over him and so close that her pulse mingles with his own. To her curls spread out on his chest, and her hand on his hip, and her lips moving against his skin every now and then when she mumbles Hebrew in her sleep.
It's not her nakedness that keeps him from dozing off, though. Tonight, it's mostly the weird sensation of intimacy that keeps sneaking up on him when he least expects it. It's the fact that she can sleep so easily, with him there, when he knows she couldn't with others. It's her shifting whenever he moves and getting closer to him and -- like now -- pushing her nose into his neck and breathing in deeply. He hums and runs a hand through her hair because he can't help it and because he likes that sensation. And because he likes to have her face buried into his neck like that. Likes her warm breath on his skin. It feels good. Feels like it should have been like that for years.
Although, truthfully, it also feels like it has been years. Touching her like this, holding her, going to sleep with her and waking up with her again... it's very new and very fresh, yes. But it's also scarily familiar. It's not something he had to get used to.
She mutters something, and he can't help the silly smile that tugs at his lips. She's still not a quiet sleeper, no sir. She probably never will be. But he likes it like that. Likes feeling her shift and move. Tells him she's alive and there and with him, which, admittedly, is one of the best things he's ever felt. He'll gladly give a few hours of sleep for that.
Her fingers suddenly twitch and cramp up, and he takes her hand and rubs it gently before she can hit him accidentally in her sleep. Which she did before, yes, when she was stuck in a nightmare. Took him a few tries to figure out how to calm her down without waking her, but now it hardly happens anymore, and he thinks she may be getting used to having him here -- in bed with her. With her.
Not too long ago that thought would have scared the crap out of him. Now, it's almost as comforting as the silky slide of her naked thigh against his or the short bursts of warm breath against his throat. It's familiar. And now, he sometimes even thinks he craves these sensations so much that he has no idea how he even survived without them so far.
He slides his fingers along hers, interlocking them, and that's another of these silly gestures that leave him smiling these days whenever he knows she isn't looking. Especially when she's like she is tonight -- soft, pliant, just soaking up his presence. She's pressed to his side and spread out all over him like a happy puppy, arms and legs entangled with his, and whenever he moves, she makes these content little sounds that tell him she likes the slide of his skin against hers just as much as he does.
A small, idle part of his brain perks up and throws in that he could stroke her back now or maybe her thighs, just to see how easily he can wake her up and remind her that this began in lust. It wouldn't take much, no. He knows she's easy to stir when she wants to be, and he certainly knows how to stir her. But to his own surprise that thought stays idle and lazy and merely conjures up nice things to do to her at a later time. And he finds that just being with her, like this, is more than enough for now. It's the closeness he needs more from her than all the fancy positions in the world.
It should scare him, really. At least he thinks that sometimes, as if he has to remind himself what kind of person he used to be. But it doesn't. It feels too good, being with Ziva, and being who he is with Ziva. It's... natural. He never has to think about what happens next these days, because it always just happens, and that's okay. He doesn't have to think about where this will end, either, or how he'll mess it up, or how he can get out of it without one of them getting hurt. Because he doesn't want out.
And that's another surprise on its own, really, even though he's carried around these feelings for her, unnoticed, disregarded, for such a long time. He's not used to getting what he wants. Not the things he really wants. The things he needs in his life to be happy. (Sometimes he's been downright convinced there's an unwritten rule in the universe that says it can't happen for a DiNozzo. At least not this one.)
She moves again, and he turns to his side and into her because, yeah, her thigh feels really nice right there, between his. Her muscles twitch, and it's a sensation that's halfway to sexual. Except that she relaxes as soon as he puts his arm around her and draws her closer, and if she wouldn't kill him for using that word on her, he'd call her adorable.
He wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like that, he thinks. And he can't believe how much time he wasted without it.
He blinks and tries to keep a lid on the sudden rush of emotion, and that's when Ziva gets restless again and murmurs something. Her arm tightens around him, and for a second she tenses up in his embrace.
"Ssh," he breathes and presses his lips to her temple to soothe her, but she mumbles some more and suddenly clings to him a little more insistently.
"No, don't go."
He feels the words against his skin, and yes, there's the disgusting sweetness of the 'adorable' word tickling his tongue once more. He can't help the chuckle suddenly, and so he wraps his arms around her and draws her closer. Whispers into her ear, "This is my bed, you nutcase."
To his great surprise, she instantly relaxes at that, as if he has flipped a switch, and soon after she even stops the tossing and turning. He's not entirely sure what to make of her subconscious reaction, but while she settles against his chest and his own breath finally slows and evens out in sleep, he thinks it's not the worst feeling in the world to have her need him like that, every now and then.